The Great Gatsby: The Alternate Endings Trilogy
by sbartist357
Summary: Did you hate the ending to The Great Gatsby? Then you're in luck! I have created three alternate endings for this great classic. What if Gatsby did get a phone call while he was going to the pool? What if Wilson started shooting even before Gatsby got there? And what if there was a confrontation between the two? Find out what happens next in my first ever FanFiction story!
1. Introduction

**INTRODUCTION**

When I first read _The Great Gatsby_, I loved the plot, storyline, and the flow of Fitzgerald's words. However, at the end of the book, the author left his readers on a sad, depressing note. Although the ending was done to symbolize the American dream and its decline, Fitzgerald never lived to see America bounce back. The alternate endings that I created are not to destroy a classic novel of literature but, instead, to provide a more modern and realistic ending to the book that is just as symbolically equal as the original. I have imitated Fitzgerald's style to the best of my ability so they blend in better, and have also made the format of the text similar to the actual book's layout. So, without further ado, enjoy.


	2. Phone Call

**The following rewrite starts off from the bottom of page 168 when Nick reveals that Wilson knew Gatsby's name and address at 2:30 P.M.**

* * *

At two o' clock Gatsby put on his bathing suit in an attempt to use the swimming pool which he had left untouched all summer. He instructed the butler that if any phone calls arrived he should be notified at once from the pool. He then proceeded to the garage to retrieve an air mattress that had entertained his guests throughout the summer, and the chauffeur helped him pump it up. Finally, he cautioned the chauffeur that the car must not be taken out under any circumstances.

As Gatsby shouldered the cumbersome mattress, the telephone rang. He immediately dropped the floatation device and ran over to the drawing room. He had barely picked up the receiver when he shouted, "Hello," in an overly excited voice. To his pleasant surprise, it was Daisy.

"Hello, Jay," she cooed. Her trilling voice sounded just as musical and lovely as it did in person. "It's Daisy. I have to tell you something I think you should know—" her voice cut off, and Gatsby became worried, for her usually cheerful voice had suddenly changed into a panicked whisper.

"Daisy?" he inquired, now clutching the phone with both hands. There was only silence on the other end. After a few agonizing seconds, Daisy continued.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm hiding from Tom. I don't think he wants you to know what just happened . . ." Daisy's voice was now barely audible, and Gatsby pressed the phone closer to his ear.

". . .A man named Wilson was here, an older man who apparently owns the garage before town. He's gone mad! He barged into our house and held us at gunpoint, and he asked Tom a bunch of questions!"

Gatsby could tell she was sobbing, and after a pause, he asked, "What did Tom say?"

"He told him that you were the one who killed his wife! He also revealed your name, address, and the color of your car!"

Gatsby's heart was racing. He didn't mind taking the blame for Daisy, but not like this. A loud banging sound at the other end interrupted Gatsby's thoughts.

"Jay, I'm sorry—Tom, I didn't tell him . . . "

A pause.

"Tom, NO—"

The line went silent as the receiver at Daisy's end was hung up.

"Daisy!?" Gatsby cried.

No answer.

He stood there for a few minutes, tears streaming down his face. His dream, the one thing that made him who he was all this time, was gone.

**CHAPTER IX**

Gatsby never used his swimming pool that day, and when I look back, I'm glad he didn't. Had he gone out to relax, he would have been brutally murdered by Mr. Wilson, who in a fit of uncontrollable rage waited in the bushes of Gatsby's garden until, realizing his plan had failed, turned the gun on himself. Gatsby's gardener found his body at around three o'clock when he was tending to the grass.

I found out about the phone call when I visited Gatsby after work that evening. Unfortunately, Daisy was pronounced dead at a nearby hospital. The autopsy revealed that her neck had been broken and that she had probably died instantly. Further analysis showed that Tom Buchanan's fingerprints were located on her neck, and he was arrested for second degree murder the next day.

A week after, a funeral for Daisy was arranged at Gatsby's house. It was a small, quiet procession, which consisted of three cars—a depressingly black-colored hearse in front, the minister, Gatsby, and I in a limousine, and Jordan Baker with a few of Gatsby's servants in another at the rear. We reached the cemetery at five. It was pouring rain.

Since the weather wasn't letting up, we didn't spend more than half an hour at her grave. As the minister said a few words, Gatsby started to cry uncontrollably. I eventually pulled him aside to console him.

"I'm sorry, old sport," he sobbed. "It's just that Daisy was the only girl I ever truly loved, and now she's—" His last word was cut off due to a sudden outburst of fresh sobs.

Never before in my life had I ever seen Gatsby so upset; I hoped to never experience his sadness again. He had tried so hard to build himself up, to show Daisy that he was worthy of her love, and in the end it all went down in vain. It was an impossible dream.

I continued seeing Gatsby often, talking and going with him to lunch, but he was never the same. Daisy's death had changed him—it wasn't a very noticeable difference, but those who knew him best could tell. He had stopped his parties originally after seeing Daisy's distaste for them, but even after her death, the parties continued to be nonexistent. I would catch him sometimes at night, staring blankly across the bay at the little green light that marked the end of Daisy's dock. He would sometimes stretch his arms out toward the dark water, similar to the night when I first saw him.

Occasionally I would visit Daisy's grave with him, although according to one of Gatsby's servants, he would stop there everyday.

I only went to her resting place once by myself, to pay respect for her sacrifice in warning Gatsby of Wilson's rampage. Just before I reached the gate, something in the cemetery caught my eye. I went over to Daisy's burial site, and what I saw would be engraved in my mind forever.

Someone had left a bouquet of vibrant daisies and a note which read:

_Thank you for saving my life. I only wish that I could have done the same for you. Farewell. _


	3. Shootout

**The following rewrite starts from the same point as the previous, but instead of a phone call, Gatsby continues toward the swimming pool. This is what happens next.**

* * *

Gatsby carried the air mattress toward the great patio doors; suddenly, a shiny object outside caught his eye. It was silver-colored, sort of like a—

Gatsby started to open the door when the first bullet was fired. It shattered the glass and whizzed past his ear. He ducked in time to avoid a second shot. With adrenaline pumping through his body, he quickly crawled to the telephone and dialed the police.

I got a call at 2:35 from the office. It was, to my surprise, from Gatsby. "Hello, old sport," Gatsby said. His tone made me panic—I had never heard him sound so worried.

"What's wrong?" I asked, already putting on my coat.

"There's a man outside in my garden," he whispered, "I don't know who he is, but he wants to kill me! Please help me—" he was cut off, but not before I heard two gunshots. I hung up and rushed to the train station. I arrived at around 2:40.

Gatsby was still running from the unknown assassin when I barged in.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you, old sport!" he yelled. "DUCK!"

I hit the ground just as another bullet came through one of Gatsby's enormous glass windows. More glass littered the floor.

"I'm going to call the police," I shouted, but when I tried to get up he pulled me back.

"I already did that! They said they won't be here for another fifteen minutes!"

"So we have to keep him busy and avoid getting shot until the police get here?!" I called.

"I guess that's the jest of it, old sport," Gatsby said despairingly.

I looked around the giant living room, searching for a weapon, or anything for that matter, that would help us. Then, an idea came to me.

"Do you have a gun?" I inquired, trying to listen for any noises outside. He nodded.

"In the top desk drawer of the desk in the study," he pointed. I ran as fast as I could into the study and opened the drawer. The gun that Gatsby mentioned was inside. I took it and threw it over to him; he caught it single-handedly. A voice from outside broke the suspenseful silence.

"I know you're in there, Gatsby," it screamed. "Come out and get your medicine."

"I'm not sick, old sport," Gatsby shouted back. As if to answer, two more bullets penetrated the windows with a loud shatter. The voice sounded awfully familiar.

"Wilson!" I exclaimed.

"Who?" Gatsby said, confused.

"He's the man who owns the garage just before town. It was his wife that Daisy killed yesterday."

"Oh, so he must think that I—" he started.

"Yeah," I replied.

Again, the house was silent. Gatsby shifted uncomfortably next to me on the ground.

"Did you count how many times he fired?" I questioned. He indicated the number six with his fingers.

"Wait, so that means he probably ran out of ammo!" I exclaimed. Wilson must have heard me, for he replied with a fresh set of gunshots.

"I have plenty more where that came from, Gatsby!" Wilson shrieked. Then, to my horror, I caught a glimpse of him heading toward the open back door. Gatsby checked his gun to make sure it was ready and loaded.

Wilson, who must have noticed no return fire, rushed the door, figuring that it would be like shooting a fish in a barrel. Meanwhile, Gatsby ducked behind the couch, aiming his snub-nose .38 at the entrance. I followed.

Wilson made it through the entryway, and paused for a moment to scan the room. Gatsby, realizing his advantage, opened fire three times, hitting Wilson square in the chest. He stumbled backward through the doorway and out of sight. Seconds later, we heard a splash as Wilson plunged into the pool, dead.

**CHAPTER IX**

The police finally arrived at 2:50, a few minutes after Wilson's death. They investigated the pool area and the inside of the house, carefully stepping over the bits of broken glass that coated the floor. Gatsby and I were asked various questions about the incident and, before they left, they ruled that Gatsby had acted in self-defense. The newspapers soon got a hold of the story, which accurately portrayed Wilson as a man who had lost his control upon the death of his wife.

As for the hit-and-run incident, Gatsby never took the blame for Daisy and, after a while, the whole event fell back into the forgotten memories of the past. Nobody ever found out who was really at the wheel, and I promised Gatsby that I would keep it a secret.

I called Daisy's house the following week to tell her what had happened, but she and Tom had skipped town without a trace. Gatsby tried several times to reach them as well, but to no avail. I guess after that he gave up on Daisy completely. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he had accepted the fact that his dream had died years ago. Daisy no longer seemed to care about him, and not calling him to ask if he was okay after seeing the Daily News headline confirmed his suspicions.

I kept in touch with Gatsby, joining him for lunch and on morning drives, but he had changed. At first, it was a slight sense of sadness when he talked, probably due to Daisy's callousness. However, after a few months, he recovered. It was as if a huge, lingering burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

Now that Daisy had gone out of his life, he was finally starting to live again, to create a brand new dream all his own, where he could live a life of peace, joy, and most of all, contentment.


	4. Confrontation

**This rewrite is focused on a possible one-on-one confrontation between Gatsby and his would-be murderer, Wilson. It starts from the point when Gatsby enters the garage. Special thanks to my dad for the idea that sparked the story. It is made specifically for comic relief (at least, I hope it's funny).**

* * *

Gatsby entered the garage to retrieve an inflatable pool chair. After pumping it up, he walked into the library to get a book to read. He then proceeded to the patio doors where he disappeared among the lush shade trees.

Gatsby placed the chair in the water, sat down with his book, and pushed away from the edge, gliding gently toward the center of the pool.

As he enjoyed the tranquility of the moment, a rustle from some nearby bushes caught his attention. A blond, older man slowly emerged. He had a gun in his hand.

"Ah, Gatsby," the man sneered. "We finally meet."

"Do I know you, old sport?" Gatsby asked, cautiously looking at the gun, which was pointing right at him.

"The name's Wilson. You don't know me, but I'm sure you knew my wife," he growled, pulling back the hammer on his gun.

"Sorry, but I never knew her," Gatsby responded. "Why is this man accusing me? I didn't do anything," he wondered. Then it struck him.

"Oh, so the woman that was killed was—"

"My wife," the assailant finished. "She ran out to talk to you and you brutally ran her over!" He screamed like a wild animal.

Gatsby knew that if he was to survive, he must keep him talking.

"Well, I don't know how you got to this conclusion, old sport, but I assure you, you have the wrong man," Gatsby said calmly. Quietly, he reached into a secret compartment in his pool chair and pulled out a snub-nose .38 revolver, taking care to conceal it behind his book. Still hiding the gun, he aimed it in the general direction of where Wilson stood. "Well, it's now or never," Gatsby thought.

"Stop playing games with me," Wilson, now in a state of intense frustration, yelled. "I know that you've been having an affair with my wife, and to keep her quiet, you killed her. So now, to avenge both her and myself, I'm going to kill you," he raised the gun and aimed at Gatsby.

Gatsby, who by this time realized that he had run out of options, fired three times. The book he was reading erupted into a ball of confetti as the bullets ripped through it. They hit their target.

Wilson stumbled backward and fired one shot, which punctured Gatsby's inflatable chair. He crashed through the patio furniture and collapsed with a loud thump onto the ground. Sitting in his slowly sinking chair, Gatsby kept his gun trained on Wilson, who laid motionless in the grass. He eventually swam out of the pool and took another look at him. The man was dead. He telephoned the police a minute later.

**CHAPTER IX**

Gatsby called me at the office at 2:40. He didn't talk long, but he instructed me to come to his house as soon as possible. I got there a few minutes later.

The front door was left unlocked for me, and I walked through the house toward the back to Gatsby's pool. The water was littered with small bits of paper and a deflated pool chair lay at the bottom of the pool. Gatsby waved me over from the garden, holding the telephone.

As I approached, he pointed to the far corner of the yard, where a body lay among a pile of strewn patio furniture. I went over to examine the body; it was Wilson. I leaned down to check his pulse and, finding none, I called over to Gatsby.

"Yep, he's dead all right," I shouted.

"That's what I thought," Gatsby yelled back, still holding the receiver.

"He's deader than a cold mackerel," I said. Gatsby nodded.

"He's dead as a doornail." Again, he nodded.

"Yeah, he bought the farm, alright—"

"I get the point!" Gatsby barked firmly. I clammed up.

While he hung up the phone, I went back over to him.

"So, what happened here?" I inquired, pointing at the confetti and deflated chair.

"It's a long story," he started. "I was just reading a novel, minding my own business, when that man—" he pointed at Wilson. "—popped out of the bushes. He accused me of having an affair with his wife and, to keep her quiet, I ran her over. Can you believe that, old sport?"

"Yes," I blurted without thinking. Gatsby glanced at me, shocked. "I mean, I can believe that Wilson would go berserk like that, after his wife got killed." I felt like I had jammed both of my feet in my mouth.

"Well, anyway, he gave me no choice, so I shot him. I had to keep my gun hidden behind my book, so when I fired, it exploded into the fragments which you see floating in my swimming pool," he finished. Then he asked, "Who or what could have put him up to this? Surely not Daisy."

I pondered on Gatsby's thought for several minutes, and I came up with only one person.

"Tom," I suggested.

"Mr. Buchanan?" he repeated. "Why would he want Wilson to kill me?"

Sometimes Gatsby was so naive he annoyed me. "Isn't it obvious? He wanted Daisy all to himself, but at the same time he was having an affair with Myrtle. When he found out that she was hit by your car, he assumed that you were behind the wheel, and figured that he could achieve both his goals by telling Wilson that it was your car that killed her. And to top it all off, he must have given him your address."

We sat in silence at one of the few remaining tables near the pool that had not been overturned. Unfortunately, even if I was right about Tom plotting to kill Gatsby, neither of us had enough evidence to prove it.

The authorities showed up soon after, and the preliminary investigation concluded that it was self-defense. Gatsby was in the clear. I heard a sigh of relief escape his lips when they removed the body from the premises.

"You know, old sport," Gatsby said when the police and the coroner left, "After what happened here, I think it's time to move away and start a fresh, new life."

I nodded silently. I could sense that he had given up his old dream, especially since it caused so much trouble. Even after he had risked his life to protect Daisy, she didn't seem to notice. He did attempt to call her multiple times as we waited for the police to arrive, but all he got was a busy signal. I later found out that she and Tom had left New York completely. Now, all he wanted was to begin again, to find a brand new dream.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Gatsby," I said.

* * *

**Ahh... Isn't it refreshing to see three happy endings in a row? ;) Let me know what you think! Write a review and favorite this if you enjoyed it! :)**


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